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“Who?”

“Don’t give him the necklace,” he whispers. “Hide it. Hide . . . it. . . . Don’t let them have . . . it. He’s not what he seems.”

I blink back to the present and try to collect all of my thoughts, and I write them down. He is not what he seems and then THEM or HIM, as I remember David referencing both, which could have been a misspeak considering the circumstances. Or maybe he was referencing both Niccolo and his people? Or maybe Niccolo and whoever runs the French mob Kayden had mentioned? I write down: Who is the head of the French mafia? And it feels important for some reason. Who runs the French mob? Do I know?

The TV invades my thoughts, the Italian confusing me, and I switch back to the news. “Next in headlines,” a female newscaster says, her voice cutting through the memory as well, and I grab the remote to mute the volume when I hear, “Money and power—”

“Money and power,” I whisper, writing those words down and staring at them, another memory taking shape. I shut my eyes and am transported to another time.

I am sitting at a restaurant with HIM, who remains faceless and nameless. I can feel his energy. I know who he is in some part of my mind, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot picture him. But still I am there, at the table. I can even see the black turtleneck sweater I’m wearing when the waitress stops beside us, speaking in a language I don’t understand. HE rescues me, ordering for me, and I feel a little less out of my element.

But then the images shift and I’m back on his bed, naked and tied up. I’ve been there for hours. I’m cold. I’m scared and angry when finally he comes to me, but unlike the last time I lived this memory, I don’t experience the moment he enters the room. He, whoever he is, is just suddenly naked and at the foot of the bed. He is standing there but I refuse to look at him. I hate him. I thought I’d loved him.

The bed shifts and his hands come down on my knees, and before I realize what is happening, he’s pressing them to my chest. His fingers dig into my legs and he moves closer, leaning over me. And damn it, I am looking at him when I swore I would not. “You’re angry,” he says.

“Two hours,” I say. “Two hours, you left me here.”

“I told you not to leave the house.”

“You don’t own me. You can’t tell me—”

“I can and I will. And I left you here to make sure you think twice the next time you consider disobeying me. A painless punishment, considering how disobeying me might have ended. I am a powerful man, angel. You know this. My enemies will lash out at anyone I care for. And that’s you. So if I tell you to fucking stay in the house, I fucking mean it. Understand?”

His demand is guttural, the rasp in his tone telling me he truly feared for me. “Yes,” I say, realizing now that I really was in danger today—because he isn’t the only one who will do anything to win. His enemies will, too.

He stares at me for several seconds, weighing my reply before his voice softens. “Good girl.” He lowers my legs and slides between them. “There is always a price for power, but losing you will not be mine. I protect what is mine.” He leans into me, his cheek pressed to mine, his lips at my ear, to add, “And you are mine.”

My eyes pop open at the memory that ends in the exact same place as when I’d had it before, and David’s warning comes back to me. He’s not what he seems. I write that down and underline it. He was not what he seemed. David was talking about the man in my flashbacks. I know it, but I’m not sure if I knew “him” before David’s warning, or after.

“Ella?”

I blink and look up to find Giada rounding the couch, and only then do I realize that I’m on the floor between the couch and the table, on top of a soft brown rug.

“Can I sit?” she asks.

“Of course you can sit,” I say. “It’s your brother’s store.”

“That he hates,” she says, claiming the cushion. “I am making him miserable. That’s not what I wanted.”

“You seem pretty miserable yourself,” I say, moving to sit on the opposite end of the sofa.

Tears well in her eyes, and she glances skyward. “You think?” She swipes at her eyes, as if angry she’s showing weakness, then fixes me in a surprisingly direct stare, her voice unwavering. “I just don’t want The Underground to take him like it did my father.”

“Like I said outside the store. There are people in life who are risk takers. We have to decide to either embrace that part of them, or to walk away. Those are the two choices.”

“How do you ever leave someone you love?”

“It’s not about how. It’s about why. It’s about not tormenting yourself and them with your fear.”

“I’m not leaving,” she says, straightening, her hands settling on her knees, repeating the words more fiercely. “I’m not leaving. Adriel is all I have. He’s my family.”

“You want to stay—and yet you betrayed Kayden by calling Gallo, and you did it in his own home.”

“You, Adriel, and Marabella have made that mistake abundantly clear. Believe me, I get it.”

“Backing down because we got upset doesn’t mean you get it. It means you don’t want to hear us bitch anymore.”

“Enzo was bleeding to death, and Adriel wanted to go after the people who did that to him. All I was thinking about was saving Adriel. Can’t you understand that? Can’t any of you understand that?”


Tags: Lisa Renee Jones Careless Whispers Erotic